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Blinding Vision

See that man in front of us? The one with the long, purple coat and shiny hat. That one, there, moving like a pinball through the crowd. That’s him, he has it, follow him! We launch after him like silver, metal balls jolting through the morning mob. He shoots through the underground walkway. There he is, next to the the newsagency, the bakery, the shoe-shiner, there! We bolt past a lady in red who yells as her coffee splashes but the sound fades into blur as we zip through the daily shuffle. We pick small gaps - pin-striped suits, blue shirts, brown shoes, red ties - he’s getting away. His coat flares out as he jumps over the turnstile and we follow him, leaping over the gateway. By the time the guards react to our offence we are gliding down the stairs towards the platform. We slip through the congestion and close in. We see the sheen of his hat reflecting the crowd like a crazy carnival-mirror. A round woman with a triangular hand-bag pops out in front us and we split, darting to either side. He springs off the platform and we chase after him. All of his purple steadily greys as he dissappears into the railway tunnel. We race into the darkness and into the heavy, grey mist, which breathes like a neglected basement. Wooden sleepers catch our shoes as we run between the tracks, further into the murk. As we round the bend, the tunnel roars and we see his coat flapping, sailing and falling to the ground. He scales the wall and pushes up through a man-hole in the ceiling. A circle of light shoots down around him we see the finish on all his garments, his pants, his shoes, his hat, his gloves, even his belt, all purple, lustrous and gleaming. He pops up into the bright light. The walls in the tunnel are shuddering and screeching and we clamber up the steel wrungs in chase. We reach the top, look out and see him shrinking towards the horizon. There is a strong pull and our instincts resist but we gradually feel ourselves being propelled away from the ground. Our feet kick air, hoping to feel the ground but we are off. The wind’s whistle dries our eyes and cools our cheeks as we accelerate towards the horizon in pursuit. We stretch out to maintian our streamline and see the world below us shrinking and fading. We soar across then up then down then out and it gradually feels like we could be gaining on him. He arcs, stops and turns to face us. We almost glimpse the colour of his eyes. His clothing starts to expand and shrouds his face. The threads grow like vines and soon he is surrounded by puffs of purple. The cloth starts to take shape, like it is filling with air, and unravels into a ball with his shining hat sticking out like a plug. The hovering purple mass stretches to capacity. We float over and lift his hat, hoping to find what we are looking for but, as we peer in, we are popped out of the story. We could have fallen from the sky but we are just 'here'. He’s gone. Maybe we shouldn’t have followed him, apologies. I'll be leaving now.

Sliding Scales

My big cousin is dead. Her lips are swollen and bloody. Around my cell is a poisonous gas, preventing escape. I had seen her, only moments earlier, gasping for the air she knew she shouldn’t breathe. Her eyes are weeping and the neighbours know but they remain silent and distant.

There are four of us still captive and there has been no sign of who is going to be next. Our captor strides towards us and the room shakes violently. He reaches forward and I secretly hope that it will be one of the others and not me, I don’t want to face the poisoned mist. His hand appears and leaves food at our entrance. I am hungry. We are all hungry and we are cautious but can’t resist.

On a small wooden table and right next to us, he takes our cousin, and with his trenchant knife he severs her head, peels back her skin and cuts her from her bones. He slices her into pieces, dips her into some soy sauce and slides her into his hairy, smiling mouth. He is watching us live our lives in fear, trapped and waiting. I need a place to hide; inside the skull, behind the bushes, in the house, under the scuba-diver? I’ll go behind the treasure chest.

Harold Oaks

-----------------------------------
Setting: Channel 12 Television Studios. Harold Oaks is a psychic medium. He is in front of a studio-audience, filming his weekly show.
-----------------------------------

Harold Oaks:
Good evening ladies and gentlemen.
I am here with you all this evening, to communicate with those who you knew, those that have passed forward, and to provide you with a connection, a pathway, a bridge, so that you can make contact and be with them again. I can almost always feel an all-encompassing presence. Even right now I can feel the spirits of many. It’s more a matter of honing in and focusing on just one of the voices.
..look around. these people are all wanting to speak to their dead relatives. why else would they be here? i’ll go, over… there

I’m picking up something in this area of the room.
..there’s always some J and P names in the crowd, here we go…

Is there a John or a Jim? Something with a J?
..hmm

Or a Paul, or a Pete, something with a P?
..nobody? that’s 4 names and 2 starting letters. about 1 in 12 names should have hit by now and there are more than 12 of you here. do the maths. are you all shy or something?

I’m getting a short name
..there’s only so much editing the station can do. anyone?

and a young man…
..look around, find the emotional one. could be one here

You! Did you lose a son?

Audience member:
Yes.

Oaks:
..phew

What was his name?

A.M:
Saul.

Oaks:
Oh, I got Paul, close, and I could feel a youthful male presence. And a short name. It’s probably him.
..ok, let’s get this one rolling

Saul was young when he passed?
..ok i said his name, that always strikes a chord. i asked for someone young anyway, she wants to believe, her eyes are twinkling

A.M:
Yes.

Oaks:
..she looks like a shy, quiet lady, i’m sure she would like to believe he had a sense of humour, whether he did or didn’t, and i’m sure she thought he was either intelligent or street- smart? handsome or cute?

I’m seeing him smiling, nice-looking boy. I think he had a sense of humour and didn’t mind a bit of a joke.
..she’s nodding and laughing but looks a little concerned and almost a touch ashamed. not the typical good-boy

A.M:
Yes.

Oaks:
And he liked to get up to a little mischief?
..ooh, raw-nerve, she looks horrified! must have been a bad-boy

A.M:
Yes.

Oaks:
It’s like he’s running away from me, but he’s laughing, like he’s playing a game with us, still, even here today.
..give me something

A.M:
Yeah, Saul always had a good heart and he was mostly a good kid but he did get up to quite a bit of mischief.

Oaks:
..okay, it seems this one’s all up to me, we’ve got a bad-boy who died fairly young. here goes…

Was he twelve when he passed?

A.M:
Eight.

Oaks:
..damn! i was gonna say 8

Because I’m seeing a young boy, definitely full of youth, but he seems quite… I can’t quite work out whether it’s his physical height or his big presence, or his maturity for his age. Maybe that’s why I was getting someone older, or the impression of someone older?
..there’s gotta be something there, height, maturity, personality, or i’m wrapping this one up. maybe my connection will just happen to ‘weaken’. hopefully someone else here lost a 12 year old, so I can ‘help’ them of course

A.M:
He certainly did have a big personality and he was quite intelligent for his age. When he came into the room, you, and everyone else in the room, would know that he was there. He liked to be the centre of attention.

Oaks:
..finally! ok we got an 8 year old named Saul who was naughty but social

I’m seeing him and he’s stopped running now. He’s stopping to talk to us and I can see lots of other people around him. I think he’s trying to tell me, and you, that he’s okay and that he is surrounded by his ‘new’ friends now.
..she has to be upset that he only lived 8 years

It’s like he wants me to tell you that he is okay and that you shouldn’t be worried that he lived for such a brief period in this lifetime, but it’s as if he’s making up for it now and that’s why he is running around, and full of energy and, living it up almost!
..bulls-eye, that made her happy, I can see the relief, maybe while everyone is feeling good I’ll give myself a bit of cred.

Often, due to the nature of death, I see people with older souls or spirits and they come to me more slowly and gently but this kid is still… he’s bouncing around! He’s here, he’s there. There’s a tremendous amount of energy.

A.M:
He sure had lots of energy. He played soccer, did athletics. He loved going to the beach and he had just started learning the saxophone. He was such a good kid, I miss him so much.

Oaks:
..ok. gotta pick this lady up and move on, this isn’t a ratings winner, maybe it won’t even make it onto the show. ok, cause of death, validation and onto the next one. it was a young death, could be illness or accident, 50/50

I feel like his passing was quite sudden and almost unexpected at the time it happened.
..such a cop-out. she’s nodding. ok, sad, very sad. it was sudden, an accident, a fall or collision

A.M.
Yes.

Oaks:
I’m getting a thud, like a hit or a fall?
..still nodding sadly, give me something. do I have to ask how it happened?

How did he pass?

A.M:
He was struck by lightning.

Oaks:
..holy sh-t! what are the chances?

Struck by lightning?
..still nodding

A.M:
Yes.

Oaks:
I felt that it was sudden and, I guess, well, it doesn’t come more sudden than that.
..did i just say that?

A.M:
Yeah, he was climbing a tree during a storm. At the time, my husband was at home with the kids and he thought they were all inside. They weren’t and Saul thought it would be, a fun idea, to climb a tree with all the swirling wind and rain. My husband heard the bang outside and went out to find our son just lying there. I got a call and it was the worst phone call I have ever had in my entire life. I’ll never forget that day.

Oaks:
..whoah, this one’s making the show for sure! better pick it up a little

Wow. That really is tragic. I think that’s what I felt, the thud when he fell and I guess it may have been the lightning, or the fall itself, which caused him to pass.
..she doesn’t know either, pretty hard to tell really, shouldn’t make her dwell on it

Whatever it was I feel like he felt no pain when it happened, like he just slipped across into the next world.
..she mentioned athletics before, she smiled when she said it. let’s bring him to life again

He’s taking me to the track now, not the horse races, the athletics track. I can see a stadium and the whole family is there; like you all had a bit of family-time there, together at the meet.

A.M:
Yes! Either my husband or I would take the kids on Saturday mornings to little athletics and sometimes the grandparents or the aunts and uncles would come along to watch, and it was a real family atmosphere. We all had a lot of fun. They were good times.

Oaks:
..ok got a bit of info now, she’s lapping it up, at 8 he would have done a bit of everything, no specialising yet, what could it be? we got running, what else, jumping? throwing?

He really is happy there and it’s like, again, he’s here, he’s there. He’s jumping, he’s throwing. He’s doing everything!
..nodding, proud, sad about what might have been

He’s a real all-rounder and would have been a great athlete through school ‘cause I can feel this, athletic prowess, i see him up on a kind of podium, like he’s being presented with a medal or a ribbon.

A.M:
He used to do very well, always in the top few, and his bedroom is covered with medals and ribbons, and trophies.

Oaks:
..did she say ‘is’ covered? okay, sporty, naughty but good, 8 year old. what about this lady? her left arm hasn’t moved the whole time. if she has an issue with her arm, then her son probably helped her a lot, even if he didn’t really want too. losing a helper would have made his death even harder to deal with.

I am seeing him carrying things and helping around the house, doing lots of things, like he was another set of hands, so to speak.
..nodding, whimpering, is that a tear?

Could we have a tissue for this lady please. Thank you.
..okay… she took it with her right hand

I must say, I know we have been speaking this evening with your son, but the whole time we have been talking, I have had a tingling sensation in my left arm, like it is heavy and stiff, almost wanting to go limp.
..take another tissue… right hand again

Is there some sort of concern regarding your left arm? That Saul has been referring to?

A.M:

After Saul passed I, I just lost it, I, I went through quite a few really tough months, and, the doctors aren’t too sure, I’ve had a few opinions, but something happened to me. They say it could be emotional, like a physical breakdown, and I get shooting pains down my left arm and it hurts when I try to use it. He did used to help out quite a bit though, before, and I had a shoulder injury for a while too and he was a great help then as well.

Oaks:

I think that clarifies the image that I was seeing. I think Saul is showing you the path, what he wants you to do and, in a way, he is willing you to help yourself. He thinks you’re going to get better, in fact, he knows it, and he says that he will be with you all the way and get you back to how you used to be. You should start to feel a kind of warm glow in your arm now, from your shoulder all the way down to the tips of your fingers, like a light is being turned on and warming all the muscles, the joints, the ligaments. Your whole arm is softening, loosening and regaining strength. Saul wants this. How does it feel now?

A.M:

Good! It feels better.

Oaks:

It's like Saul is guiding me. Go on, move that hand. Make a fist for me, for Saul! I don’t know if you can see ladies and gentlemen but those fingers are definitely moving. That fist is good enough for me. Well done. Keep at it.
..hopefully she will be able to make a fist one day. gotta be quick, gotta move forward maybe the dog thing? she has the warmth of an animal-lover. It would have to be a large dog, she doesn’t seem like the ‘cutsie-little-yapper’ type. a german shepherd, a rottweiler?

He’s showing me a dog now, a big dog, darkish in colour.

A.M:
This is so amazing! I’m really, just, overwhelmed! The neighbours had a black labrador-retriever, Petie, and Saul used to play with him all the time. He always wanted a dog and I wouldn’t have minded so much but my husband hates dogs. So Petie was it!

Oaks:
..Petie! i said Pete before, gotta bring that in

I think that could have been the ‘Pete’ coming through before? I said, earlier, how Saul was, or is, here, and there, and maybe Petie, this big, black dog, is there with Saul, and they are running around and going exploring together.
..man, I hope this dog is dead! she did say the neighbours ‘had’ a dog

And Petie has passed?

A.M:
Yes, he passed away last year.

Oaks:
..phew!

‘Cause I can see them there, playing together, and they are having a good time together. It’s as if Saul’s trying to say, “Mum, I know you are worried but it’s okay, I’m in a better place”, and he wants you to remember him and all the good things. He also wants you to remember all those long chats you had.
..what the hell does that mean? though you’re looking a bit embarrassed there mum

‘All’ of them, and he says you’ll understand why he wants me to emphasise the ‘all’. He’s telling me to tell you that it’s okay to move forward with your life, and your ‘lives’, I’m seeing your whole family, and it’s like he’s waving away his hands at you all, saying you can, somewhat, leave him to be, but he’s still smiling and he’s happy. See Mum, he’s still looking out for you!
..okay happy ending, young, social kid, vibrant, she said he had lots of medals and ribbons in his room, sporty, gotta have posters on the walls

I’m seeing a picture or a poster up on, maybe it was his bedroom wall? A famous person? Like a sports-star perhaps?

A.M:
Yes! His David Beckham poster! Beckham was his idol!

Oaks:
..sentimental lady, very surprised, spoke earlier about his bedroom being covered with medals and trophies. should work…

Oh yes, that’s him, I think the haircut threw me. And you still have that poster?

A.M:
Yes! I haven’t been able to move a thing in his bedroom since that day.

Oaks:
..we have one! what else can I say?

He wants you to keep that poster. He likes how you go into the room sometimes and look around, and look at the poster, and think of him.

A.M:
I do and my husband does too. They used to love watching soccer together.

Oaks:
I think he is trying to acknowledge his father here too and he wants to say, or, he wants me to say ‘on his behalf’, ‘hello’, he’s passing through his greetings, to his father and to all of your family. And he’s saying it’s okay to change his old bedroom around if you want, maybe you guys have been thinking about it? Wondering how long you should keep it like that? But keep the poster. He likes the poster.

A.M:
Okay. It’s amazing how he showed you his old bedroom. That poster’s going nowhere. Anything for my boy!

Oaks:
..ok, enough of this lady. love ‘em and leave ‘em. i wish they all would. not really though

Once a mother, always a mother. And he wants to wish an older female figure a happy birthday, one that’s just been or is about to be?
..how good will this be if it’s yours? please be yours, even if it was 2 months ago, I’ll make it work. drum roll…

A.M:
It’s his sister’s birthday tomorrow!

Oaks:
An older sister?

A.M:
Yes!

Oaks:
..bingo! finish on a high harold, you psychic you, this one’s a wrap!

I thought so. Well Saul wants me to wish his big sister a happy birthday for tomorrow and he wants you all to know that he will be there with you in spirit. Thank you for time today.

A.M:
No, thank you! That was wonderful!

Oaks:
Thanks, enjoy tomorrow.
..i hope you think it was wonderful, this isn’t easy you know! you gotta be quick, creative, sensitive, adaptable and have a mouth that melts minds. you guys love it, you want it, you need it. watch my show, buy my book.
care for an autograph? how many of you need to see the old ‘H. Oaks’ before you realise? who’s next? maybe over… there?

I’m getting something from this side of the room now, an older male figure?

The Mosquito in the Room

Tony: What are you doing?
Fiona: Why don’t you just scream at me next time Tony! There was a mosquito on your arm!
Tony: Who’s the one shouting? Stop touching me and getting all on top of me all the time. I can take care of my own mosquitoes.
Fiona: That’s right isn’t it! You don’t want me anywhere near you do you? You can take care of everything yourself. Is it those whores in the city? That little slut secretary of yours? Or are they also not allowed near your highness over here, who takes care of his own incy-wincy little mosquito!
Tony: I don’t need this.
Fiona: Where are you going?
Tony: Out.
Fiona: Where’s out Tony? Tony! ...You’re sucking me dry Tony!

How it… was?

When lands were divided with words etching borders,
when little specs of space in time all lived at the centre
and honoured our antiquity, the narcotic nostalgia.
They didn’t know they didn’t know.

So simple then, and wondrous to believe in
an unseen force, to dominate and cushion,
who whispered behind them the perils and virtues
on their spec, a soiled disc, a conjured enclosure, bound
by fantastic, immortal horizons.

Drowned in their purpose and kneeling for dreams,
praising, repenting and hoping to please,
speaking to the sky, not raising an eye,
living out the divine, intellegent design, to a
void, the world, so confused, so uncertain.

At a Glance

I went to see a lady at AAMI this morning, just before she was
arrested for having over 200 cannabis plants in her Sydney home.
At lunch I had a 6-Inch Sub from Subway and noticed
a man ‘mistreating’ a girl stuck in the toilet.
I started a new account at Westpac this afternoon and saw a
woman released from 18 years in a locked room.
Tonight I was driving home in my new Holden Astra and spied
two single mums turning a sleepover into a sex party.
I am on my Apple Mac and I can’t sleep,
a study has shown that we may all be space aliens.

Paradigms

You see a 28 year old woman wearing only a g-string...

How would you feel if you were:
- at the beach sunbaking?
- at a public swimming pool?
- at a beachside café?
- at the local shopping centre?
- in the CBD?
- at a nudist camp?

You see a creature being killed outside...

How would you feel if it were:
- a mosquito?
- an ant?
- a fly?
- a cockroach?
- a mouse?
- a hamster?
- a cat?
- a dog?
- a pig?
- a cow?
- a human?

Ink Patterns

Al: So how does it start?
Bob: You can’t start like that!
A: What do you mean I can’t start like that?
B: By asking how it starts.
A: But I didn’t.
B: Yes you did.
A: What do you mean? We’ve been talking for ages.
B: Yeah but he only started writing about us now.
A: When?
B: When you asked how it starts. Couldn’t you feel it?
A: What about all that stuff we were saying before?
B: He missed it. Maybe someone else will get it later.
A: But I was saying some funny stuff, like my bit about Google.
B: What bit?
A: About how long it takes to do a search.
B: No one cares about that.
A: Exactly, so why does it always show how long it takes?
B: No I mean no one cares about your Google ‘bit’.
A: But it’s funny.
B: It isn’t funny.
A: Jenny liked it.
B: Who’s Jenny?
A: A girl I was talking to.
B: You don’t even know any girls.
A: Oh how much you don’t know! We had a love scene last night.
B: As if.
A: We’re not always in the same stories together you know.
B: Was it published?
A: It might be.
B: If it’s not published it didn’t happen.
A: Who says?
B: That’s how it is. If it’s published then it happened.
A: Like how you think you were an 'astrophysicist'?
B: I was. It has been available since the 3rd.
A: No it hasn’t.
B: Have you looked? Can you even read?
A: I can read!
B: It’s one thing to sound out the letters but I mean ‘understand’.
A: I hate being around you. I don’t know why they make us meet all the time.
B: I’m the smart guy, you’re the dumb guy. We fit together.
A: You think you’re smart?
B: I know.
A: You think!
B: Exactly, and you don’t.
A: You’re an idiot.
B: Think about it: who has been a university professor, a computer hacker, a barrister and even the president of a Fortune 500 company in the last year?
A: They put those words in your mouth.
B: I think for myself.
A: You really think so do you? You’re more stupid than I thought.
B: So then why do your characters always seem to be named Rich or Bif or Tex?
A: There’s no way you could have done Tex.
B: Because I’m not dumb enough?
A: It takes smart to play dumb.
B: Whatever you say Boff. You just don’t get it. Some of us can control our characters, but guys like you just let the writers do whatever they want with you.
A. You can’t control their thoughts.
B: Of course you can. I always get the girl in the end and you always miss out. Do you think that just ‘happens’?
A: I want out. I quit. I’ve had enough.
B: You can’t quit. This is it for us. Anyway, if it wasn’t for us there would be no stories.
A: You call me an idiot but you are deluded! Of course there would be stories.
B: Who would play the characters? Where would the ideas come from?
A: What do you think the writers are for?
B: To tap into our psyche and piggy-back us all the way to the end.
A: You’re nuts. Prove that you can take control.
B: How?
A: Exactly!
B: Okay. This conversation is about to come to an end.
A: You’re telling me. I’m done.
B: No. I will make it end. Are you ready? It’s over… now!
A: Doesn’t count unless it’s published.

Surreal World

The sandbanks had finally reformed at Bondi Beach and the waves peeled clean lines across all the breaks. Sunday, the most trecherous day of the week to surf Bondi, the day on which people dig around in garages and find old surfboards to take out for a paddle. I succumbed to the Sunday Surf, but this time was a little different. After about an hour I saw something out of the corner of my eye and heard a clap of gasps and cheers from onlookers perched near the entrance to the Icebergs swimming pool. I looked across at the swarm of surfers waiting near the far south end and saw, what looked like two whales swimming around between the boards. When they launched out of the water, they were dolphins. Two big dolphins, between three and four metres. The bigger dolphin shot vertically out of the water as if standing to attention. It was a Seaworld act, with the dolphin metres above the water, but this was in the ocean, amongst a gaggle of surfers who were cautious on their boards, mesmorised by the dripping, grey mammal. The dolphins soon slid away, leaving everyone to look around at each others' startled faces. The excitement settled but lingered and the fight for waves was back on.

Eve & Adam

Try to think back to the date you
were born, it’s hard but try.

When you were one
second, two seconds, three, four. Five
fingers and toes checked.
Ten, you were there.

One month earlier inside
growing, two months before,
three, six and nine. What were you then,
waiting, dormant? We all came from women
spiked by men. We all came from a woman,
who came from a woman who came from
a woman who came from a woman who
came from a woman who came from a

Lunar Glow

The tiny hairs in my ears are pulled to attention, forced beyond my control, to unwrap the infuriating sound. My brain feels like a rubiks cube, scrambling for a solution. Bottles and jars are fighting and I clamp my eyes closed. It must be that morning. I forgot to put the garbage out again. My diary pages are trying to turn behind my eyes but I slam them shut and put a pillow over my head. If only I didn’t wake up then I wouldn’t have to go through this. I feel punctured and drained. The thought of getting out of bed sends a burning trail up my throat. My eyes open and I slam them shut. I want to go back to sleep but I saw a shirt-sleeve dangling out of my wardrobe and now I can feel the collar pressing on my neck. I picture myself with a lit match, standing over a pile of all my clothes, soaked in petrol. If I burnt them all then maybe the memories would smoulder with them. I feel my thoughts slowing and a numbness creeping up from my fingers and toes and I pray that next time I won’t wake up.

The alarm is screeching and vibrating the room. The least she could do is turn it off already.

“Roxy”, I try to scream. I try again, “Roxy!”.

I move my hand to tap her but my arm just keeps on sliding till it is fully stretched. I hold my eyes closed and move across the sheets. My hand eventually reaches her bedside table and I fumble her clock-radio, pressing all the buttons, but it continues. The plastic clock makes a crunching sound as it cracks on the hard-wood floor. I can’t believe it’s still going. Shit! What happened? My hand is all wet and I half-open one eye. The vase is lying in a puddle on the carpet. I think it’s cracked. The alarm is still going but it’s not Roxy’s. It’s coming from the apartment next-door. I want to bang the wall but my arm feels paralysed. I peer over at the water which is turning the carpet grey. I’m so tired.

The air in the room smells musty and it holds me down on the mattress. I hope today is the day that they release a virus to wipe us all out. I know it’s out there. Somewhere. Over time the other creatures will regain control and everything we have made, all those buildings and machines, will keep breaking in half and in half again, and again, till they are all in tiny pieces and returned to their resting place. I feel calm when I think of how the silence would be broken, only by the ‘krri-krri-krri’ of a cricket or the ‘twee-twa-twi-twot’ of a bird.

The wide, blue, velvet curtain is struggling to keep the day outside. The light is stabbing through the perimeter and onto the pale walls. I want it to be night again, I want to sleep.

The phone. Stop already. If I had no phone and no door I’d be free. Why can’t people just leave me alone? I’m going back to sleep.

The hazy room crawls into my eyes and I see jagged streaks of light creeping further across the walls. I start to feel the sheets on my fingers again and then on my palms. I can feel my breath touch the bottom of my chest again and the prickles are disappearing. I feel lighter. A warmth is trying to seep into my mind and my toes are tingling. I should have a shower. I reach over and press the button to open the curtains. The small motor sounds like a film reel at the cinema but without the raw flaps and clicks. I wait for the movie to begin and it starts with a rectangle of sweeping blue sky. I have to get up. Roxy must have gone for a walk. Maybe she’s right. I saw Roxy’s friend, Dr Fields, once but she over-prescribed me and I flat-lined. Roxy thinks I can’t deal with it but I can; you’ve just got to ride it out.

The light coming through the window is warm, almost hot, and I can feel it on my skin. I fling the sheets off and walk over to the rays of sunlight radiating through the window. There are sailboats gliding across the harbour, travelling with the wind and turning at their discretion. The ferry drivers are so set in their motions, traveling from departure to destination and back again. If I was a ferry driver I would just keep going and take my passengers out to sea. I should shower. I see that Roxy has left me another one of her notes on the coffee table.

Hey Mikey,
So sorry sweety, have to go into
the studio earlier than I thought
this morning...
Love you, Rox xxx

Only one more day and I’m out of here. I wonder if she actually did go into the studio; she can’t break up with me first. I move into the sun on the balcony and absorb more rays. I feel like a drink. The phone rings again.

Hello Mike speaking. Who wants me? Come on, talk to me. What do you want?

Hi Mike it’s Nicky, how are you doin’?

This girl has an energy that bubbles up from her soul and climaxes in her voice. I feel my eyelids rest as I imagine the sharp corners of her mouth rising into those soft cheeks.

Nicks, hows my American All-Star? I sound so sexy this morning.

Another day in paradise here Mike. Are you coming in today?

I was just about to leave. Everything okay? Tell me you want to see me and that you dumped your nasty boyfriend last night and that you can’t hold back any longer.

Yeah, all’s fine. Kate couldn’t come in and Ed’s whinging a bit; nothing I can’t handle. James wants to discuss the new menu with you too. I thought you said you were coming in at ten but I guess I’ll see you soon?

I know you can handle it baby. Let’s forget the café and just drive. We can go anywhere you want; the beaches, the mountains, the country-side. Just you ad me in a red convertible with the roof down on a long road.

I’ll be there in about half an hour. Sooner if I can, I need to see you.

See you then Mike.

You sure will.

Phones make things so easy sometimes. There was something in Nicky’s voice this morning, maybe she got some action last night but I hope not. I could kill him. It would be great, me and Nicky. She grows on me everyday, sliding past me with her tight black pants and cute sneakers; taking orders in-between seductive glances. One day we’ll just go into the store-room and get it over with already. Maybe today. I have to place another order with Frank for the function on Sunday afternoon. My towel smells like a wet dog. I think it’s the vase-water that stinks.

Hello.

She always sounds so clueless.

Hi Martha, it’s Mike Bramton calling from Potts Point. Let’s just get to the point and finish this conversation quickly.

Hi Mike, how are you?

Good, good. Would you be able to come around today?

Today? You want me to come today? I was you the other day.

You wish you were me.

I know, I had a little accident in the bedroom and I would be very happy if you could come again today. Tick, tick, tick.

Okay Mike I come for you.

Thanks Martha.

Okay Mike, bye-bye.


What if I slept with her? Maybe if I didn’t kiss her. I can’t believe how bad I felt this morning, like that first bottle emptied into the garbage truck and everything else piling on top, shrill after shrill. I’m glad it’s all over now. I catch a glimpse of my bicep in the bathroom mirror. It’s no wonder that everyone is staring at my arms all the time.
The shower feels so good. The earth’s life source flowing all over me. What a great way to start the day.

I look in the mirror again as I shine and polish my teeth. My hair is looking a bit long. That guy in that movie I saw last night shaved his head. Roxy’s scissors are all I can find and I make my way across my head cutting twists of hair. I cut it short and I am looking more like the guys on the cover of those magazines. I go for the razor to finish it off but I leave it; hair is always a work in progress anyway.

I need new clothes. This wardrobe isn’t fitting for someone like me. I have to get rid of these old clothes; they’re so worn and dirty. The sunlight is still pouring through the window. I open the sliding door to the balcony. It isn’t as smooth as the wardrobe but I like seeing the lines of muscles in my forearm as I pull it open. A sense of relief comes over me as I grab all my clothes and walk towards the balcony. I cast my clothes out towards the horizon and watch them falling and turning in the wind. Most of them find their way onto the road but some land on parked cars and get tangled in trees. Maybe I should have taken the hangers off. I am becoming more of an artist everyday. I think it’s about time I had an exhibition.

There’s nothing like a smooth blend of aged grain on the balcony to start the day. My crystal tumbler smiles rainbows as I fill it half way. I stretch my toes out towards the harbour and feel the soft ropes of the hammock on my back. A small white box catches my eye and I can’t remember seeing it there before. I look closer through the glass door at the box behind the couch. There is some sort of sticker on it. I put the glass down and go in to see what’s inside. It’s like a shoe-box with its tight fitting lid. There is an initial powdery floral top note, moving to a well-rounded, rose and citrus middle note, and holding on with a fruity base. I unfold the white tissue paper and see white lingerie with lace and soft stitching. Roxy must have something planned. They smell so good. She better not be seeing someone else. I wonder who it could be. It can’t be. There’s no way. It would be way too hard if we had to break-up and get back together again. Only one more day to go.

My hands feel full as I lock the front door. I’m going to create a line of boxer-shorts with pockets. There is nowhere to put my wallet, my phone or my keys in these things. They would be perfect to go shopping in and trying on clothes would be so much easier, you wouldn’t even need a change room.

The elevator in this building has great mirrors. Look at my muscle structure. I am a perfect specimen. I should go to the sperm bank this afternoon, you never know what’s around the corner. What a firm stomach, perfect symmetry. Yeah baby, you’re the man. That’s right, point right back at me, you know you want to be me. Great boxer-shorts sexy, they should call you Calvin. Bing! Ground floor, menswear.

An old lady is checking me out as I leave my apartment block. I think her husband is too. There you have it Mike Bramton, proof that you are really, really good looking. My clothes looked so much better when I was looking at them from the balcony. It loses it’s effect up close. I need pockets in these boxers. I think Claire could design them and Ben could help me do all the promotion and distribution.

Ascension Securities, Phil speaking.

Good, sounds like he’s been doing some work today.

Phil it’s Mike Bramton here. I want to liquidate thirty thousand dollars now.

I need a name for them and a motto. Maybe, ‘Shorts & Sweets’? That’s a great one!

Hey Mike, that won’t be a problem, I’ll just bring up your account… you’ve been doing well this week Mike, everything went up except DRT which remained stable. You have almost thirty-five thousand in WAM stocks at the moment and they’re peaking right now if you want to sell?

WAM-bam-thank-you-mam. I only bought them for ten grand.

Sell them all and put the funds into my bank account.

Time to rock and roll.

The shops around here are so ordinary; I don’t even feel like trying on any of this crap. I need more selection, more variety. Where do kings go shopping? They probably don’t even shop. Everyone is trying to catch a glimpse of me. A yellow Mercedes is parked and I look at myself in the side mirror. The car tells me to stand on top of it and pose like a trophy ornament. It prompts me, beeping and flashing its lights, so I stand on the roof with my arms pointing to the sky. It’s such a beautiful day. I can feel the warm breeze soothing my skin. I wish I had a sample pair of my new boxer shorts up here. I could be promoting them. Ben would be so impressed. There is a lady in her forties, who thinks she is in her early twenties, jingling her keys and staring at me with her mouth wide open. I think she recognizes me. I jump down off the car and walk over to her; maybe I’ll give her an autograph or perhaps a kiss if she’s lucky. As I’m walking towards her she freaks out and runs away. Some people are way too shy. I want to run after her but she disappears into a crowd of people who also seem to recognise me.

Madelaine’s is almost open. I keep away from the crowds in back lanes till I get to the small red bulb on the side of the door that whispers to me and sends a throb to my knees. The little silver button has just been polished and clicks under my finger. There’s not much of that woody amber glow left so I finish off the bottle and throw it onto a pile of garbage bags nearby. The door opens and hollow eyes stare at me through false lashes.
“Hello”, she oozes and peels the door open. I walk into a puff of air that smells moist and rosy. It’s making my teeth feel numb. There are only four to choose from today and they are all staring at me, checking out my rock hard abs. I run my hand through my hair to make it look like it’s a tough decision but I know who I want today. Last time she called herself Bambi and the time before that, she was Candy. My hair feels so stylish and I can’t wait for her to grab it and pull it. She introduces herself as Nicolette and she thinks she is so much more sophisticated now. Her white vinyl boots have long, tapered heels and I can see her ankles sway as she holds my hand and escorts me up to the room. The boots have white laces that criss-cross up the back of her leg to an exposed patch of skin, about a hands width from her little white dress. Her cheeks crease, at the top of each thigh, with every step. She turns to me and giggles before guiding me through her door.

Her pupils fill her eyes as she slides her naked body against mine. Her skin looks softer than it is. I run my hands over her back and squeeze her. I’m sure she is enjoying it more than I am. She is so wasted that she doesn’t realise it when I pull off the rubber she had rolled onto me earlier. Finally it feels a bit better and she whimpers and moans, between short gasps. I don’t think she realises how lucky she is to be riding me. I look at the clock and the big hand says it’s time to finish things up. I roll over on top of her and dominate her while I stare at those shallow blue eyes. She groans and my body warms and tightens. She looks at me and her pupils adjust slightly. She swears at me and starts hitting me. I grab my things. I really need pockets in these boxers. It won’t be long before they are ready for sale. She runs off and two big guys come in, take my money and push me to the door.

Everything looks bright yellow as I stumble outside. It’s so hot and I can feel the ultra-violet light penetrating my skin. It’s too hot to walk and a guy like me shouldn’t have to work up a sweat unless he intends to do so. These cab drivers are blind. None of them are stopping. I step further out in front of the road until I am standing in front of a taxi and he skids to halt. That’s the way it should be. I open the door and he starts driving. I jump in and he stops. He seems pretty upset about something but I can’t understand a word he’s saying. I tell him the address of my café and he’s still shouting. Maybe someone started a war with his country today because there is some foreign radio station blaring. He is shaking his sweaty forehead and I look at the clock on his dashboard. It’s almost one. Roxy will be on soon.

“Hey buddy, do you mind if I change the station”, I ask but he’s still steamed up about something and he’s looking around a lot. “You know Paradise FM, last stop on the dial?” He’s still not answering me so I try once more, “You know Roxy Sinclair with ‘all the news and traffic clues’?”

I reach out to change the station and he hits my hand away. Without really thinking about it I backhand him in the nose. He flips out, starts trying to hit me back and screams at me. He gets out and runs around to my side of the car. I lock the door. He starts banging the window so hard that I move over and into his seat. I see him running back around so I put the car into gear and release the handbrake. Maybe it’s not such a bad job after all. I look around to see if anybody needs a lift. In the rearview mirror I see the driver. He’s crazy. I’m glad I got away from him. I switch over to listen to Roxy but I just missed her. Billy D. stamps another reminder that we are listening to Paradise FM and then fades into some eighties pop song I haven’t heard in a while.

There is a prime parking spot at the front of the café. There are so many beautiful women around today and they are all looking at me. I greet a few of them but they are all so shy. I hope I don’t have to resort to ‘catch and kiss’ to give them what they want. This one dresses to be seen and I really like that; displaying her desire to mate and making herself look as attractive as possible.

This one dresses to be different, with an individual style. She wasn’t that good anyway. Okay, this one’s a sure thing, hardly worth the effort. Dressing to blend in? Just don’t care?

Maybe it’s those dark clouds crawling into my light and hiding the shadows around my abs. I look up at the sky and call out hoping to push the clouds back.

“Mike, what are you doing?”, Nicky asks.

“Nicks! So good to see you”.

“Is this some sort of promotion or what?”

“They’re almost there Nicky. I’m going to be very rich soon. Who told you about them?”

“Mike I think you should come out the back, some of the customers are asking questions”.

I walk around the side of the café and towards the storeroom with Nicky. I wanted sparks to be flying and I wanted her to be looking at me with lust in her eyes but it’s not there.

“Mike, are you feeling okay? Have you been drinking?”.

I can smell James’ beef lasagne sizzling in the back oven. My stomach starts to hurt and the smell makes me feel nauseous. My back is feeling stiff and I sit down.

“Mike! What’s up? Why are you running around in your underwear and what happened to your hair?”.

She keeps looking at me but I feel too tired to speak. I don’t know why she cares anyway.

“Just sit here for second Mike. I’ll be right back. You’re going to be okay”.

I wish she would just leave me alone. I wish everyone would just leave me alone.

It’s almost one-thirty and the Paradise FM news will be on after the ad break. More disasters, rapes, murders and people having their lives destroyed. I don’t know how Roxy does it, every hour on the hour, continually reminding herself of the worst the planet has to offer. I think she’ll be on after this ad.

Hi, I’m Roxy Sinclair with all the news and traffic clues on your last stop on the dial, 108, ParadiseFM. It’s half past one.

And Roxy, there’s been an abduction in the suburbs.

That’s right Billy. An eight year old boy has been abducted from his school playground in Botany earlier today. Staff didn’t see or hear anything but some students reported seeing a blue Falcon station-wagon with NSW license plates leaving the scene. Police believe it may be the boy’s father who has recently been involved in a custody dispute over the child.

And a rather unusual car-jacking in the city.

Yes, a report just in that a man stole a taxi after assaulting the driver in William Street. Authorities aren’t yet sure of the motive but they believe the man was wearing only his boxer shorts.

Boxer shorts? Well it certainly was hot this morning. And I hear we are going to have to fork out more at the check-out Roxy.

That’s right Billy, bread manufacturers have today said that they had to raise the price of bread due to the increasing cost of wheat. The drought-related increase will see the average price of a loaf up ten cents.

Hmmm, I guess there’ll be no more toast for breakfast. What about this rain?

I’m sure management will leave us some toast Billy. And yes, clouds have rolled in, bringing with them some light showers. They are expected to clear up later this afternoon and tomorrow we should have clear skies and tops of twenty-nine in the city and a whopping thirty-two in the west.

Good to hear. Maybe you can cover for me and I’ll hit the beach tomorrow?

And can someone fill-in for me too?

Anyone? Don’t worry listeners, we wouldn’t just leave you like that. So Roxy, tell us what’s happening on the roads.

Well there was an accident on the M5 earlier which delayed southbound traffic but everywhere else it’s looking like a clear run. If you have anything to report on the roads please call us on 1500 PARADISE.

Thanks for that Roxy. I think it’s time for another little tune. I’m Billy D. and you’re listening to the last stop on the dial, 108, Paradise FM.


Paul walks into the storeroom. He pulled himself from his bench-seat at the front of the café, sipping coffee and doing deals on his mobile phone. He would probably think my boxer shorts idea is a waste of time and money and he’s probably right. I don’t know what I was thinking.

“Hi Mike, how are you doing?”. He is looking at me like he is the school principal.

“Hi Paul, did you hear the news?”

“What happened?”.

“Didn’t you just hear Roxy?”

“No I was on my phone. What did she say?”

“I need to borrow your car Paul”.

“Mike, I don’t think you should be driving right now but I am happy to take you somewhere. Where would you like to go?”

Across the table I see one of James’ paring knives. I grab the knife and hold it with the point pressing to my jugular. I could almost keep going, sliding it deep into the vein to free myself from this pain. It would be such a relief.

“Paul, I don’t have time to mess around. They’re coming for me. They’re all against me. Just give me your keys”.

He hands over his keys and tells me it’s parked around the side. I run out the back and around to where his car is parked. I slump into the front seat and think about just waiting for them to get me. I deserve whatever punishment they give me and maybe it’s better for everyone if people like me just died in prison. I hear the promo for the show that Roxy and Billy are doing tomorrow. Roxy is okay for a few minutes but not for hours.

Do you and your love have that special song? Was it your wedding song or the song you heard on your first date? Tomorrow, from ten till four, you can make your requests with Roxy Sinclair and Billy D. Ten lucky couples will win a weekend fabulous weekend away. So, take your love to Paradise this Valentines Day, starting at ten on the last stop on the dial, 108, Paradise FM.

Over six months of torture and I don’t know if I can be bothered going through with it. I don’t even think they will let me talk to Roxy live on air. My foot is starting to go numb and I can’t really feel the brake-pedal anymore. I haven’t gone far enough and they are probably chasing me but I see a place to pull the car into and I stop. I feel like I’m in a cocoon. If I had a hose it would be a good time to stick it onto the exhaust pipe and pull it through the window. No one would even care. I deserve to be outside, wet and cold. My head hurts and the rain drips on my face. An annoying looking couple are walking on the edge of the park giggling to each other under a red umbrella. I try to tell them that relationships are a waste of time but I don’t think they can hear me. There is a branch on the ground and I pick it up to support myself.

I move to a bench in a hut. There is a rustling sound behind me. On the bench is a pile of blankets covering a homeless man. I think about taking him out with my stick and ending his misery but I feel too weak. I look at his face under his worn woolen cap and start to feel sorry for him. I shuffle towards him. The smell makes me feel like vomiting and I try but nothing comes out.

I poke him with my stick and his eyes open wide and then slump, along with him, back onto the bench. He mumbles, “They are after me. They’re coming to get me. The government. Help me”. He pauses, “He will save you”. He stares at the roof of the hut, nodding.

“What are you looking at?”, I ask him as I force my eyes away from his nostrils. He doesn’t answer me but I continue anyway, “You’re right. They’re all out to get us. They tell us the sun rises and the sun sets, like we are the middle of the universe or something. They brainwash us”.

I look at him and he is nodding again at the roof .

“He loves all of us”, he says.

“He, he, he. All the ‘he’s’ all promising a reward. Did ‘he’ put you on this bench? I think ‘you’ did. Life is what ‘you’ make it not what ‘he’ makes it. And after this life there isn’t an after-life so wake up to yourself already. Ever seen a dead bird on the road?”

He’s still looking up, fascinated by something.

“He loves us all”, he grumbles.

“I’ll tell you about love; it’s the biggest waste of time ever. I don’t know if you ever listen to the radio but there’s this newsreader called Roxy Sinclair on Paradise FM. I used to listen to her. I met her, we dated, we moved in together, then I got home one afternoon and she’s in bed with another guy. I flipped out and smashed the crap out of him. She left. Then she kept calling me, crying and apologising, so eventually I moved back in with her and I just had to put up with it for a few months, till Valentine’s Day. She’s doing this Valentine’s Day radio show. I’ve been priming her up for the last few weeks, telling her I’m going to call her live on air”.

“He’s going to save me”.

The sun’s rays warm my legs. The trees and the ground are covered in sparkling raindrops. I grab my phone and wallet and bid farewell to the park dweller. I wish these boxer shorts had pockets. I see a shopping mall across the other side of the park. It’s time to buy some new clothes.

I think a man like me needs a suit - white, single-breasted; a blue shirt with a big collar and some white leather shoes. The staff in ‘Metropol’ are all checking me out and I feel like they know me from somewhere. A young guy approaches me and is standing firmly upright and speaking clearly. I show him my gold credit card and I tell him what I want. He likes my assertiveness and some of the sales-girls can’t help themselves and come over to assist me as well. I feel like a king as they escort me to a change-room and bring me the clothes and shoes I requested to try on. Within a few minutes they have me dressed and ready to go. I tell my boxer shorts idea to the manager and he seems impressed. I just have to get them made and he will sell them for sure. I have to get myself a car, a nice car.

As I walk towards the car dealership I see my reflection in a shop window and I see the most powerful man on earth. I think it’s time for a new hairstyle from that hairdresser across the road.

The hairdresser asks me what happened to my hair and I tell her it’s a fashion thing, avant-garde. She laughs awkwardly and I think she has already developed a bit of a thing for me. I tell her I approve of her suggestion to shave it all off even though I know it isn’t really the only option.

I see myself beaming in the mirror. The hairdresser agrees that it’s the best haircut she’s ever given anybody and I think I’m ready for my new set of wheels. There is a pair of black sunglasses on the table next to me and they complete my image. I thank the hairdresser and walk to the car dealership. They are calling me back, probably for an autograph or a picture but a man like me doesn’t have time for things like that.
There is a red Ferrari convertible on display and it’s going to be mine. I hope they take credit card. I go in and chat to the guy who is jumping around my ankles like a puppy dog. I am a little dissappointed to hear that it’s only available to rent, but for only three thousand dollars a day I tell him I’ll take it for a week. I don’t want to mess around with paperwork and signatures and he can see that I’m a busy man so he takes my credit card and license and comes back a few minutes later. He asks me for a few autographs then gives me the keys.

People are having trouble keeping there eyes off me. I just want to give this baby a chance to fly. The steering wheel is so small and responsive. I could listen to the sound of this engine accelerating for the rest of my life. My spare seat is waiting to be filled. There is a modelling agency somewhere around here.

I pull into a bus-stop outside ‘Platinum Modelling Agency’. These girls love fast cars and white suits. I don’t like waiting so I look through my wallet for any phone numbers I got recently. I turn one card over and on the back, in swirly handwriting, she wrote her private number and a little message ‘Call me anytime Mike, Vanessa’. Sounds promissing.

Hello this is Dr Fields.

What a seductive voice she has.

Hi is this Vanessa?

Yes it is.

Hi Vanessa, this is Mike Bramton. I think we met recently.

Mike, I was thinking about you today and wondered how you were doing.

I’m doing great. I was wondering if you had any plans for this evening.

I don’t usually do consultations after hours but I think it would be good to meet this evening.

Sounds kinky, I think I like this doctor.

I’ve had a look at your mother’s history and it seems she had similar symptoms.

My mother? What does she have to do with anything?

Mike, your mother’s disorder developed what they call ultradian cycling. I think I may have mentioned it to you last time, it drastically effects your…

Wait! Are you Roxy’s friends that was trying to push pills into me?

I really think you should come and see me Mike. If…

I guess she’s out of the question. I’m not dating a quack. Where are all the girls? I haven’t seen any yet. A big billboard is plastered with Roxy and Billy D. and the details of their show tomorrow. I can’t wait any longer.

Hello.

Hi Rox.

Hi Mikey! I haven’t spoken to you all day. Sorry I missed you this morning. How has your day been?

I’m on top of the world, I’ve never felt better.

Sounds good…

Look Roxy, I was going to wait till tomorrow to call you live on your big show but it can’t wait any longer. I’ve been planning this since we got back together and I thought Valentines Day would be the perfect day. Roxy, it’s over between us. Over, finished, done.

I look across and see a gorgeous, tanned brunette with a yellow singlet, little denim shorts and yellow stilletos. She looks perfect. My phone rings and I press the ‘reject’ button. She is striding over towards me. As she gets next to the car she stops and does a pose as if she is still in the studio. I wait for her to say something but she just checks her watch and tries to hail a cab. She must be playing hard-to-get.

“You got to watch those cab drivers out there, can I give you a ride somewhere?”, I ask.

She looks at me for a while and then breaks into a practiced smile.

“Hop in”.

She eases the door opens and slides into the cream leather seat. “Where can I take you?”

“Anywhere!”, she says.

“I want to drive and just keep on driving”, I tell her.

“Let’s take it as we go”, she says as she pushes her brown shoulders against the back of the seat.

“What’s your name?”

“Erica Lovelle”.

“Sure you are, I’m Lars”.

“Nice to meet you Lars”, she says and I can smell her chewing gum.

She gasps and then smiles as I ease my foot onto the accelerator and drive towards the freeway.

“You see the moon Erica?”, I say and she looks up. “You can see the whole thing even though it’s daytime. They call it ‘earthshine’, the sunlight reflecting off the earth and lighting up the shaded side of the moon”.

“You’re quite a guy aren’t you Lars?” she says.

My phone rings again and I throw it behind me, out of the car. I look over at Erica and she holds her gaze for a moment, then flicks her hair back into the wind. I slip the car into fifth gear and head straight for the sunset. It doesn’t get much better than this.

Behind the Cupboard Door

Emily knew little about her uncle but having him nearby was like the carefully wrapped crystal in her pocket, providing her with an invisible layer of protection. Though she had only been there a few times, his cottage was close and offered an escape from the threats of detention and regimented hours. She tried to forget about the chequered linoleum floor and the firm grey bed in which she had slept the last two hundred and thirty-seven nights. The air in her dormitory room smelt of balling, unhemmed blankets, and when she thought of her room-mates, Sarah and Megan, that same scent came back to her. They became her friends more by proximity than anything else. During the week, the three girls wore the same dark green dresses, with white collars, and with thin, jagged, blue and yellow stitching. Emily was glad that her white socks concealed the bracelet tattoo around her ankle. On the weekends most of the girls gathered in small groups to leap around strings of elastic in the park, discuss boys, both real and imaginary, and paint intricate designs on each others’ finger-nails, until they wiped them clean on Sunday evenings. Emily often felt the urge to take a scissors to the elastics or to fill the niggling bottles of nail-polish with the permanent black ink she had found in a forgotten storeroom. Megan proved to be useful as she knew a girl in one of the other buildings whose brother used to visit and bring her wine and cigarettes hidden amongst clothes. Sometimes they would creep out to a small, rocky clearing behind the school and lure the prohibited goods to their curious lips.

Often in the evenings, Sarah and Megan would discuss their hometowns and tell stories of their exagerated pasts, aware that Emily was in the room but content to leave her listening on her bed. The lights vanished each night on the strike of nine and Emily always pictured the boarding mistress, stiffening her neck to line her glasses up with the ornamental clock perched on the wall behind her desk, with her stubby finger lingering on the light-switch. After this time, all that could be heard in each of the many rooms, were light whistling breaths and ruffling sheets.

As Emily walked towards the cottage, snapshots of her previous visits to her uncle were flickering in her mind like the flash cards she saw one time in a psychological examination. The test was administered by the school and made her feel, at times, like she was in amongst the cover of her Beatles album that lay silent in her room at her parents’ house. Her bedroom used to be her sanctuary where some familiar faces, pinned on her walls, were her support, showing signs of a life greater than her own. She would ask them for guidance and sit, cross-legged in the middle of her room, waiting for a smirk she hadn’t previously noticed or a beaming gaze of assurance and sometimes some she was sure she heard a few words. There were candles, and an oil burner, carefully placed around her room and lit in a particular order. First she would light the candle next to her bed and then move around her room in a clockwise direction lighting all the other candles. The glow was comforting and the tranquility took her body out of the room and away from her parents’ house to a place where she was with her dreams. She was sure, that by her first day at Pettington Girls’ School, her mother had taken pleasure in entering her bedroom with big, black garbage bags and doing what she had always reprimanded her for not doing.

Emily walked away from the edge of the unmarked bitumen and continued along the road that made most vehicles slow down. She kicked a dandelion and watched the spawns travel along the wind’s current. Her mother’s voice was echoing in her head, like the bat that was recently trapped in the roof above the dormitory. The middle of her throat had sunk down and tingles had pulsated along her skin, as her mother stumbled and paused on the phone.

“Emily, something terrible happened to your uncle Toby yesterday”.

His eyes never squinted when he lit a match and he would always finish a sentence with a wide, relaxed smile. There was a purpose in all of his actions. He grew many herbs and spices in a fenced patch behind his cottage. The minty, green aromas would seep into the air as the plants hung to dry, pegged to a freyed twine between beams on the verandah. His hardened fingers would carefully break off small quantities of the dried plants and place them in his yellowed teapot.

She followed the path her uncle had driven her on her first Sunday at the school, then every few Sundays after that. He would arrive at ten to pick her up and they would spend the day at his cottage. She remembered the first time he drove up the driveway to the school, in his brown utility, followed by an orange cloud that rolled out from under his tyres. She was glad that the boarding mistress had never met him.

Emily’s mother had told her that she would be arriving at the school at nine to pick her up and take her to sort through the cottage. Her mother had also said that she had phoned the boarding mistress to tell her of the loss and that she would be returning to the school later that evening. Emily’s father was unable to come as he was away again at a business meeting interstate.

The first time Emily’s mother had been late to pick her up was after a tennis lesson when she was seven. Emily remembered sitting on the grass beneath the thick branches, poking red berries onto twigs and constantly thinking that each car approaching must be her mother’s. On that evening the sun eventually fell behind a fence and she walked home alone from the tennis courts. Emily could almost feel the monsters returning as she continued towards the cottage. She had this feeling most times when her mother was late and it was often accompanied by the tangy smell of those berries and the feeling of stickiness on her fingers.

Emily watched a cow behind a fence tearing at the grass. With mild interest, her calf watched and tried to mimic its mother’s movements, raising it’s head awkwardly from the ground with a few green strings falling from it’s mouth. Emily watched the grass fall to the ground and thought of her mother’s phone call. He was found, lying on the floor of the cottage, by the owner of the property who lived in a nearby house.

Toby had no children and was never even married, but his image seemed to fit one of a man with a family. He had travelled to many countries and often said that he spent time living in the cities that had a message for him. He seemed content with being alone but Emily knew that she hadn’t ever seen him in his truly ‘alone’ state as she was always there when she saw him.

Emily spied the cottage over the bend. It was a wood-panelled, one bedroom cottage sitting next to a narrow stream. Emily walked through the gate at the boundary fence and followed the parallel lines that were etched by her uncle’s utility vehicle. The brown vehicle sat in the distance, waiting by the stream. Emily noticed that her mother’s car still wasn’t there so she walked across to the stones that lined the bank of the creek. The stones ground against each other under her careless footsteps. The hypnotic rhythymn entranced her and it wasn’t long before she saw the imported pebbles that covered the area around her uncle’s vehicle. Emily peered into the car and saw his street directory on the dashboard and his mirror-ball lying still under the rear-view mirror.

Emily saw herself in the window of the utility. The muscles under her cheekbones had fallen and were weighing down the corners of her mouth. She sat down in a thin chair next to a rustique table. The chair-legs penetrated the grass and sank into the earth before finally resting unevenly. Sitting between the river and the house, Emily began to recall Mr Willard’s lesson from a few weeks earlier.

“Death is what happens at the end of life. The vital functions in a biological organism completely cease, stop, finish. It is generally considered permanent and all living things are believed to eventually die somehow. In mammals, including humans, rigor mortis initially takes hold and muscles gradually stiffen. The body then begins to self digest, driven by its own enzymes. Bacteria and fungi continue to digest the remains and eventually small organisms, microorganisms, begin to decay hard tissues like bone and teeth”.

Small clouds rolled away behind the top of the hill in the distance and a string of birds flew under the clouds towards Emily. She felt like a blade of grass, calmly absorbing the sunlight, the river and the soil. She started to wonder where all the items in the cottage would eventually rest. She lifted herself out of the chair and walked over towards the cottage. There were flakes of rust and wood-chips of on the ground where the garden tools lay and the smell of moist soil rose from half-empty plant boxes.

The four windows were all closed. It was so quiet that Emily could almost hear her uncle’s final groans echoing inside the cottage. She pulled at a window and one of the panels of glass in the frame fell out and shattered next to her foot.

Emily heard a slow shuffle of feet on the pebbles around the corner at the front of the cottage. She kept her feet still and turned her ear towards the sound. The shuffling stopped but she could hear a slight crunching of pebbles. It couldn’t have been her mother as she didn’t hear a car. Emily stiffened and eased out past the corner. She jumped and a lady with white hair and a walking stick almost fell over.
“Ooh, deary me, I didn’t think anyone was here”, the lady said as she held her free hand on her chest. “Can I help you with something dear?”

Emily looked at the lady, confused, “I’m waiting for my mother”.

“Are you a relative of Toby?”, the lady asked, gradually regaining her breath.

“Yes, he is, was, my uncle”, she replied.

“I’m so sorry for your loss dear. He really was a lovely man”. She paused and looked more closely at Emily, “Oh, are you Amanda?”

“No, Emily”.

“Ah, yes, Emily. I’m Mrs Edson. Your uncle told me about you. He told me you are going to Pettington. It’s a wonderful school you know”.

Emily looked up, “How do you know my uncle?”

Mrs Edson smiled, “I live in that house up on the hill over there. This cottage used to be my husband’s workshed. He built them both you know, with his own hands. He passed away many years ago and I’ve been letting out the cottage ever since. Your uncle was here for almost a year. I can wait with you for your mother to arrive if you like. There’s no need for you to wait here alone, especially…”.

“That’s okay”, Emily said as she looked around for an excuse. It came, “Here comes my mother now”. An older model, white, BMW came towards them slowly, swerving from side to side as Emily’s mother clenched the steering wheel, and her jaw, trying to keep the car straight. Emily noticed that her mother had recently had her hair done. Any occasion seemed appropriate for her to have her hair styled and to have those brown roots stripped back to a copper shade of blonde. Emily could see her mother shaking her head as she pulled the keys from the ignition. She tossed the door closed and walked towards Emily, thrusting the heels of her new shoes into the ground with each step.

“Emily, how could you just run off like that without telling anyone? The whole school has been looking for you. I better let them know I found you”, her mother snapped.
Emily’s mother held her gaze to reaffirm her annoyance with the situation. When she looked across at Mrs Edson, Emily’s mother exhaled.

“Hello, I’m Jacqueline Maddison, Emily’s mother”.

“Sylvia Edson”, she replied and tilted her head, “my sincere condolences”.
“Thank you, and thanks for all you did for Toby”, Emily’s mother said as she stepped towards Emily and embraced her with wide arms and a tight squeeze. Emily wasn’t sure if it was a show for her or for Mrs Edson or for both of them.

Mrs Edson leaned on her stick for support and opened her mouth a few times as if to say something but she just looked at Emily’s mother and gave her a hint of the smile she had given Emily earlier.

“I won’t keep you, I’m sure you both have quite a bit to do. If you need anything please don’t hesitate to come over and see me at the house”. Mrs Edson slowly circled around her stick to face back towards her house. “Once again, my sincere condolences”, she said with a rattle and she began her walk back up the hill.

Emily’s mother stepped back but kept her hands on Emily’s shoulders and inspected her from the top of her head down to her shoes and back up again.

“They seem to be taking good care of you at Pettington. Look at how your cheeks are losing their puffiness and I think you’ve grown”, her mother said as she looked her up and down again. “We were all very worried about you. You knew I was picking you up didn’t you?”

“When you didn’t show up I thought you must have meant to meet me here”, Emily replied.

Her mother sighed and hugged Emily again as she looked at the cottage from side to side.

Emily eventually pulled away and gawked at her mother. “Do you have the key?”, she asked.

“No, I don’t”, her mother replied with a stammer. “Mrs Edson would have one. Be a darling and ask her won’t you? She couldn’t have gone far”.

“It’s okay, I can get in”, Emily said as she walked back towards the open window.

“What do you mean? How?”, her mother asked as she watched Emily walk away. “No. Emily! Wait”. Her voice trailed as Emily stepped up and through the partly broken window into the cottage. Emily unlocked the front door and pulled it from its cramped frame. Her mother came to the door shaking her head and holding back a smile.

The cottage was much smaller inside than Emily had remembered. She stood with her mother and they peered around the room almost as if they expected to have someone come out and greet them. Emily’s mother went to open all the windows, complaining that the room smelled. She stood and stared at the couch. She turned to Emily and snapped herself back into the task that lay waiting. There wasn’t much furniture in the house. In the main room was the couch, two chairs, a leaning bookcase, an old trunk and a thin coffee table. The bedroom had a single bed, a clothes rack and a small cupboard.
“I think the furniture came with the cottage so it can stay for now. All this other stuff has to be sorted through. Most of it looks like it can go straight in the bin. Emily, you start in the kitchen. There are some flattened boxes in the boot”. She dangled her car-keys out towards Emily.
The box took up most of the room in kitchen and Emily walked around, opening and closing cupboards and draws, not knowing where to begin.

“Emily, just do it one cupboard at a time. Keep it or toss it, you decide”, her mother called from the other room.

Most of the items in the kitchen Emily had seen before but everything seemed to radiate as if each item had a story to tell. She found herself fiddling with all the metal and wooden implements and stared at them waiting for some kind of answer.

“Emily? How are you going in there?” her mother called out from only metres away.

“Yeah, okay”, Emily mumbled back.

“It sounds very quiet in there. I don’t want to spend all day in here you know”, her mother responded.

Emily soon heard that her mother, too, had become quiet and Emily stepped towards the door to see what she was doing. Her mother was sitting against the wall next to the open trunk, leaning heavily against it with a piece of paper in her hand.

“What are you doing?”, Emily asked, peeking her head around the door-frame.

Her mother sat up startled, crunched the paper into a tight ball and threw it into a black garbage bag.

“It’s nothing Emily, just an old letter to your uncle. I probably shouldn’t be reading it anyway”.

“Let me see”, Emily said as she walked quickly towards the black bag.

Her mother grabbed the bag before Emily could reach it and glared up at her, “Emily, we don’t have time for all this. Let’s just get finished already”.

“Ooh, touchy”, Emily pronounced.

Her mother’s head fell into her hands and Emily walked back into the kitchen with an envelope that she had spotted. She sat on the scratched bench-top next to an array of dried herbs and spices in hand-labelled glass containers.

Emily looked at the hand-written envelope. The writing was swirly but consistently large, ‘Emily’. It wasn’t sealed and she pulled out the letter inside.


To my dearest Emily,

It is only part of me that hopes this letter finds you. If your mother or father read this letter before you do, there is a good chance it will never reach you. If so, to you, Will and Jacquie, I’ll leave it to you to decide.

Emily, it troubles me greatly to write this letter but I feel there are some things that you have to know. Even if this letter doesn’t reach you, then at least I will know that I tried but as much as I want you to know, I don’t want you to know.

It has been amazing, spending time with you over the last few months. Missing your life up until this point was hard but only became harder once we met again. I am left to imagine what I was never able to see. It leaves me with a heavy chest when I think back to those times I missed.

I’m not sure how much you know about my past, perhaps even your past, but from what you have told me over the last few months it doesn’t seem like much. Some say beauty is in the eye of the beholder but I think that truth, too, lies in the eye of the beholder.

During the times we spent together I told you about some of my travels around the world but there is still a lot about me that you don’t know. I doubt your parents ever talk about me in front of you. They may have told you I was in jail and it is true that for most of your life I have been living overseas.

Many years ago, I had an affair with a married woman. She had been trying for a baby for years. We weren’t trying, but it worked. I didn’t know what to do. After a few days she came to me with an aeroplane ticket to South America and told me to go and that she would follow. We were going to start a new life. It didn’t sit well with me, but at the same time, it seemed like the best option. I packed my life into a suitcase and left.

Her mother’s voice sprang from the other room, “Emily, what are you doing in there?”

“I’m packing”, Emily replied, folding up the letter. She held it tightly in her hand and looked out at her mother who was concentrating, deep in thought and looking through old papers and photographs.

“I’m just going to get some more boxes”, Emily called out. Her feet crunched across the pebbles and she looked for a good spot, eventually sitting at the table and chair near the creek. She put the envelope on her lap, unfolded the letter and continued to read.

I had a ten hour stop-over in Los Angeles and that is where I experienced one of the worst moments of my life. Airport customs officials were waiting for me and I was quickly escorted to an interogation room and shown a bag of illicit subtances they found in my luggage. I assure you Emily, as I told them, that it wasn’t mine. She planted it in my luggage hoping to get rid of me, she was at my apartment when I was packing. In one instant I lost everything. I thought a lot about my daughter while I was serving time Emily, I thought about you.

After years of being away I felt that I had to see you. It took some months for your mother to agree for me to see you and when she said you were going to be attending Pettington School, she suggested that I look for accomodation nearby. If this reaches you then the promise has been broken and you know what your mother has been hiding from you.

Emily, from the time I first met you, I saw how similar you were to me, strong-minded, quick-thinking and truly an individual. I want to tell you about the man who has been your father and my brother. I always hated how he treated your mother. Even to this day he flies around the world attending his business meetings. It was probably his cocaine that your mother put in my luggage. He had a nasty habit. Perhaps it was all part of her grand solution to get rid of me as well as his addiction all at once. Maybe it would be better if you never knew any of this.

Emily turned the page over but saw nothing. She looked in the envelope for more but there was nothing there. The skin on her head tightened and tingled. The pages felt stiff and dry in her hands and her eyes shot between the paragraphs, searching for something she had missed. Emily had waves racing up and down her body as she ran into the house.

“I can’t believe you! How could you? Why didn’t you ever tell me?”, Emily yelled at her mother.

“What? What are you talking about Emily?”, her mother asked.

“You and uncle Toby. How could you? Does dad know?”, Emily screamed.

“What? I don’t know what you are talking about Emily”, her mother replied.

“I read a letter from uncle Toby. He told me everything. You and him, his time in jail, meeting me. How could you?”, Emily exclaimed.

“I don’t know what he told you but I hardly ever saw him and his jail time was unfortunate but he took a risk and got caught”, her mother said and settled back into her chair.

“He said he’s my father and that you set him up to get him away from us”, Emily snapped.
“What? I don’t know where you got that from! Show me the letter”, her mother said and faced her palm upwards at Emily.

Her mother read the letter and giggled, “Your uncle sure had an imagination. It looks to me like one of his scribbles. There’s lots of them here, you can look. Toby liked to mix his teas and potions and sometimes they took his mind to some wild places, and ten years in jail couldn’t have helped either”.

“Why don’t I have any brothers and sisters”, Emily asked.

“Your father and I never felt that it was necessary to have more than one child. Would you have wanted a brother or sister?”, her mother asked.

Emily looked at her mother’s brown eyes closely, trying to glimpse the thoughts behind them but at the same time Emily knew that she had never seen much in those eyes.

Her mother stood up and walked towards her with a tilted chin. By the time Emily’s mother had called out to her, Emily had slammed the front door and run down the path. Emily ran back up the driveway, along the road, through the school gates and up to her room. For the first time in two hundred and thirty seven days her blanket felt warm and she couldn’t wait for Sarah and Megan to return.

A Note to the Keepers

We are the animals of the zoo and it’s time.
You place us here for your amusement but it’s a terrible life.
Placed in confined areas, ridiculous recreations. Our home,
we go forward, we stop, turn right, hit a wall. Look left,
hit a wall, spin, head right, face left, hit a wall. Hit a wall.
No right, nothing left, implode.
Go straight and submit to early retirement.

We miss what we don’t have and soon we will forget.
Our children will never know, for them this will be it.
We have made a pact to attack,
regardless of who they may be. We will rage
unless we’re released, unrestrained, to finally see
but first we would like a meal
and the key, please.

Son of a Mother

Walking along, down the concrete pavement,
mother with son and dog off it's leash.
The little rascal got jumpy, clawing
the boy’s shorts, pulling
his shoelaces, growling at his shoes,
biting his trousers then his ankle.
He swung his foot into the mutt's side and
felt the swing of his mother's left hand.
His head jolted back and he met her fierce eyes,
immobilised. Her voice exploded,
“You have to let dogs bite you, Nathan,
that’s what they do”.

Strike None

I am in a community and we are all equal,
heads rule us, hands wield our potential,
our bodies hold fuel, to sustain our efforts.
I’m just as perfect but lie untouched.

I’m lost in a forest, looking for a flint,
a perfect strike, with room to produce,
from cigarettes to cannons and fireworks to thunder
to fires for food, for warmth, I’m here.

My hobby is sleeping,
pyromania is my weakness. I want to
grow tall and shine with intensity,
blazing in my moment of glory.

Life’s a Ball

They crawl all over and leech,
chisel at the core and remove,
precious goodness from the sphere, they transform
it’s energy, providing them with a life, entrapped,
wherever they turn they remain.
To continue their lives they destroy it’s life,
is that just the nature of existence?
It would have been great, so much to enjoy,
but for those ants on the bubblegum ball.

Through the Eye of the Hook

6:23am
The alley exists beneath a tall slice that separates two abandoned buildings. It once had a name but now it is marked by a bent street-pole with no sign. A streak of light pierces a rusty hole in a fence at the back of the alley, casting a beam across the lane. Tiny remnants play in the light and hover around Van, crawling towards his eye. A truck’s horn bellows as it heads through the city and Van pushes himself up off the pile of yellowed newspapers, dusts himself off and shakes the blood back into his left arm. The air is heating up and it rises, pulling a cool morning breeze, between the buildings and through the littered lane.

“Who’s a pretty boy?”, torpedoes through the alleyway.

Van stands tall and still. Two men walk up to him and one of them pulls out a switchblade.

“Hand over the jewels punk. Both of ‘em”.

The silver tip of the knife motions for Van to react. He reaches behind his neck and undoes the clasp on his gold chain. Van throws the chain up into the air, aiming for it to land behind the two men, and runs to a stack of red and blue pallets next to the fence. He climbs to the top of the splintering stack and stands level with the corrugated tin. The two men close in behind him and Van jumps, pushing his navy sole into the pallets as he leaves. The two men grasp at the pallets and yell. Van hears a short rain of thuds as each pallet in the stack lands like a lopped tree. The two men groan but are soon silent. Van looks around, sees no-one and runs out from the back of the alleyway. Motorbikes splatter in the distance and the roars fuel Van’s legs. He runs with images of the round symbol on the mens’ black leather jackets. He feels like the razor-blade disc is trailing him, spinning by the hairs at the back of his neck. The land behind the city slopes down towards the bay and Van runs along the path of least resistance, like a gush of stormwater.

6:34am
A silver blade cuts with practiced precision, taking the head almost clean off in one straight motion. The man’s right hand releases its grip on the handle and his left hand throws the flesh into a nearby bucket. A thick mist creeps over him and through the algae-covered pylons, hovering amongst the warped ribs of the jetty.

Van crouches, shivering under the pale, orange streaked sky. He watches the old man on the jetty through the tall grass. The man effortlessly pierces a limp, fleshy prawn. With a flick he casts the bait out into their world. Van’s breath slows as the clicking ‘whir’ fills the bay. Birds are gathering in a committed air and land attack, trying to steal the easy prey on the jetty. The man yells at the birds and stamps his feet whilst sliding another hook into the flesh of his bait.
The old man jostles out of his chair as one of his lines is pulled straight. He engages in a battle, arching back and pulling, then leaning forward quickly to wind in some precious ground. Using a force that is only ever drawn upon in such situations, the fish has the power of ten but it isn’t enough. Clicking twirls sound the death call as it is pulled from its home and held flat on the jetty to face the crusty blade. The man’s eyes sparkle as he gazes across the emerald water, the knife parting the head from the body. A cool breeze rolls through and picks at the waters surface, leaving white scars that quickly heal. Through the grass, Van spies some movements across the bay.

6:56am
A cracked leaf spirals down in front of Van and it hits his shoulder before falling to the bitumen. He is jogging through a quieter part of the suburb to the sounds of dishes clanging and hair-dryers blowing. The streets flow into gates and up to driveways which lead to houses with groomed gardens and sniffling dogs. Van looks at his clothes and sniffs his sleeve. Arriving at the front fence of the property, he looks through the metal bars to see if anyone is around. A garbage truck comes around the corner and two men jump off the back. Van eases the front gate open, then closes it, all in time with the clinks and thuds of the garbage being thrown into the truck. He creeps toward the house, then stays close to the walls and below the windows. Two minutes; one hundred and twenty seconds, and counting.

Van steps across to the window and looks inside. The door’s still closed. He shakes the sliding window free from its catch, steps through the window, lies flat on the mattress and pulls the sheets over him.

For almost six months there had always been two knocks on the door and they land on time. She peeps in, “Van, it’s seven o’clock. I’m going to meet Margaret for a walk. I’ve left your lunch in the kitchen. Have a good day”.

He hears her walk away and then reverse out of the driveway. He looks at his calendar and sees sixty-five squares that separate him from the freedom of being eighteen years old. The lady who owns the house has become accustomed to her guests turning eighteen and having the desire to drive themselves off into the sunrise. He gets out of his bed and steps into the bathroom to prepare himself for the day.

7:19am
A small hatchback, barely big enough to seat five people, revs at the bottom of his driveway. Its horn is pressed and tapped a few times. Van grabs his bag and tie and strides through the kitchen. He picks up the brown paper bag and jogs out to the car. Mike, JD and Raz are in the back seat and Van gets in the front next to Tom.

“Don’t even ask me JD, I’ll tell you at the pit”. Van says as he puts on his seatbelt.

The four guys are pumped, like they are every morning, nodding smiles at each other to the music Tom has chosen.
“Oh, it stinks in here! Raz, was that you again?” JD quizzes with disgust.
Mike pipes up, “Fwaah, who let the cat out of the morgue?”
“You idiots, I went fishing this morning. Some of the stuff’s still in the back”, Tom says.

Van sits through the giggles and pokes, then asks Tom where he went fishing. Tom says that he was in the bay and had lots of nibbles but that the ones he caught were too small to keep. Van stares at the dashboard and hears the boys in the back seat. He grabs the side of Tom’s seat and glares back, “Enough already!”. The three in the back seat glance at each other and make some attempt to hold back their laughter. Tom hits the brakes hard and reverses into a parking space outside the coffee shop.

They all get their usual orders and hang outside. Van feels the hot, ground bean in his mouth and stares past the cup at the footpath.

“You alright Van?” JD asks, tilting his cup.
“Yep”, Van responds.
“It’s just that…”
“I’m okay JD, we’ll talk soon, don’t worry”, Van spatters.

Tom leans on his car, with the door wide open, and rests his elbow and his coffee on the roof. Van hears the start of a news-story on Tom’s radio and runs over to the car.

…“The two men were found this morning in the city’s central business district. The authorities were alerted by garbage collectors who discovered the bodies. Both victims appear to have suffered severe head traumas and, at this stage, the motive is unclear. Police have detained three males, aged between nineteen and twenty-three, for questioning. The identities of the victims have not yet been determined”…

Van watches a stream of brown liquid fall and sees his coffee cup roll out of his fingers.
“What the hell?” Tom shouts, looking at his trousers then looking up at Van.
“Van, are you...” Tom begins.

Usually, after the coffee-stop, the atmosphere in the car would rise with the volume. Words form on the boys lips but no sounds follow. Tom would usually shout out random abuse to the closed windows of other vehicles, but today he looked straight ahead and occasionally at Van.

7:38am
The car is parked in its usual spot behind the gym and the five boys, with their ten eyes, look at the lawn at their feet as they walk towards the pit. Tom is first to crawl through the fence and he reaches into his pocket for the key.

The boys turn on the four flashlights in the pit and sit on their makeshift chairs. The circular room is almost quiet enough to hear the bears that were once kept within its concrete walls. The shadows on the walls stiffen and all eyes turn to Van.

“Last night I did it. I spent a night on the street. I took nothing but the clothes I was wearing and I wore the gold chain and the diamond stud. I slept under a pile of newspapers. Then, just after I woke up this morning, I got jumped”.

Tom straightens, “No way!”
Mike’s eyebrows tilt, “Are you serious?”
JD laughs and squeezes his knees.
“What happened?”, Raz asks.

“I don’t know. I woke up and these guys pulled knives on me. They got the necklace. That’s it”, Van replies.

“Now way!”, Tom repeats.
“That’s crap”, Mike follows.
Raz speaks up over JD’s laughter, “What really happened?”

“There’s not much to say, it all happened pretty fast”, Van replies as he takes the diamond stud out of his ear and puts it on the old school desk in the middle of the pit. He turns to JD, “JD, now it’s your turn. Tonight we are going to watch you swim out to Bear Island, in the middle of the harbour, and wait for you to come back with the sign from the end of the jetty.”

JD looks like a goldfish, stuck in a bowl in his head and trying to escape. Van looks again at JD, “You were the one who said we had to earn our place in the group”.

The ‘ten to eight’ bell rings and JD walks towards his bag.

“Tonight it is”, JD mutters, “I’m looking forward to it”.

The five boys do up their top buttons, pull their ties, straighten their badges and leave the pit.

Van and Tom walk through the blue uniforms towards their geography class and Van feels a flick on his ear. He clutches his lobe and turns around to see Harry.

“Did you guys hear about the two Kapitos who got knocked-off this morning? Someone dumped a load of pallets on them. My brother told me and I also just heard it on the news”.

“Yeah I heard”, Tom said, “What did your brother have to say about it?”

Harry looked at them, “You can’t tell anyone. This is serious. My brother was the one who came up with it. There were these two new guys and they had to rob someone in the street to prove themselves. I think they tried to mug the wrong guys. No one knows who killed them yet. I guess the new guys weren’t Kapito quality”.

Harry pauses and his eyes twinkle, “When are you going to give me a chance to join up with you guys?”

“You’re crazy aren’t you Harry”, Tom says as he looks Harry up and down, “You really think you could handle it with us?”

Tom whispers to Van that Harry should go with JD tonight to see how serious he is, but Van folds his arms.

Tom looks over at Harry, “Soon Harry, we’ll think up a good challenge for you. You better get to French now, run along!”

Harry doesn’t respond and paces away down the corridor.

Tom chuckles and shoulders Van in a way to tell him to chuckle too, but Van just stands there, staring out the window.

“Van? Are you alright? Harry could be okay, he’s got connections. What’s up? Is it your ear? Hold on”. Tom presses his earphone into his ear and turns up the news report. The ‘eight o’clock’ bell rings and Tom tries to find a quiet section of the corridor. The classrooms start to fill but Tom remains outside, listening.

Van sees Tom’s eyes widen and he looks for exit routes, but Tom smiles and walks over towards Van with an exaggerated stagger.

“You could be right. Maybe you did get jumped after all!”, Tom says with pressed lips as he pats Van on both shoulders, “You cheeky little bastard. Maybe you weren’t lying. They found a gold chain!”

Van swallows and smiles back at Tom, “How cool would it be if that was mine?”

“It probably is. The guys who got it probably took out the Kapitos”, Tom says.

“Yeah”, Van replies as they walk towards their classroom.

Tom and Van walk into their geography class and Mr Hardy points at the clock, showing three minutes past eight.
“Having trouble reading the time today are you Gentlemen?”, Mr Hardy says to them as they walk into the room.

“No sir. It won’t happen again sir”, Tom replies without looking up.
“I want to see a change in your attitudes. The way you two are going lately it will be one of you who wakes up, or doesn’t wake up, under a pile of pallets”, Mr Hardy harps.

“What do you mean sir?”, Tom asks.

“Didn’t you see the news this morning? A couple of gangsters were killed in the city. They say it could be the start of a large-scale gang riot. They say they’ve even got the riot-squad on standby. You don’t want to end up like that do you?”, Mr Hardy quizzes.

“No sir”, Tom mumbles.

“Van”, he probes.

“No Sir”, Van says.

“Okay, let’s move on. Who wants to discuss last night’s homework?”, Mr Hardy asks to the class.

Van opens his book, looks out the window and folds his arms across yesterday’s page.

A light drizzle forms spots on the windows and Mr Hardy begins to ramble about the rain. Eventually the spots become drops and spontaneously slide down to the white, wooden frame.

A pen pokes Van on the arm and he looks up and sees Tom with his finger pressed again to his ear.

“What?”, Van snaps with pointed eyebrows.

“They found the guy”, Tom mouths, still listening to the latest news report.

“Who?”, Van mouths back.

Mr Hardy sees the boys and yells, “Thomas Forsyth. Get that thing out of your ear”

“Sorry sir. I just wanted to hear the latest about what happened in the city this morning. They caught the guy sir”, Tom replies.

“What did you expect? They always get caught in the end. Now if I see that thing again it’ll go in the bin. Do you understand?” Mr Hardy says.

“Yes sir”, Tom replies.

“So Thomas, what did you get for part b of question 8?”, Mr Hardy enquires.

Tom flicks through his pages curiously.

“Anyone else not do last nights homework?”, Mr Hardy asks as he scans the room.

Tom looks at Van and sees his, and all the other hands, remain on the desks. Tom’s head shakes and grumbles.

“Good. Thomas, you can see me this afternoon for detention”, Mr Hardy says as he spreads his shoulders.

Van scribbles a note, folds it in half a few times and slides it over to Tom.

Tom unfolds the note under the desk while keeping an eye out for Mr Hardy. He holds it in front of his stomach and looks down.

Ha! It’s only a crime if you get caught.